Alright, on with the latest segment. Kinda had fun writing this too. Thanks so much to indigo and livulmann for keeping me going on this fic. Really. Thanks! :)
"Dad, are you sure this was the right..."
"I left Rex a note, Dana.", Brody winced, as she led him as quickly as possible through the back field of the horse farm to where she'd stashed her car. Not easy since it was pitch black out and she and a walking stick were supporting all of Brody's weight.
"I thanked him. I told him that even though I wasn't responsible for the 12/12 bombing, he gave me way too much fucking credit, about everything. That I didn't even feel worthy speaking to him or thanking him face to face."
"But, Dad..."
"He already thinks I'm a coward and a disgrace. I just drove it home for him."
"Well what if he decides to turn the note you wrote over to the cops?"
"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."
"You mean we will."
"Dana...", he groaned as they finally reached the car. After she opened the door, Brody all but fell into the backseat.
"Forget it. I'm not going to argue with you about this.", Dana muttered, slamming the back door shut before going around to the driver's seat. Once in the car and on the road, after a beat Brody spoke up.
"Dana, I'm sorry. But after we get to the mosque you're going to have to head back to-"
"Dad, please. It's dark and it's late. Let me just focus on one thing at a time here.", Dana sighed.
"Okay. Okay."
After she drove for about ten minutes more Brody felt his eyes start drooping and his leg starting to throb.
"Sweetheart I'm going to try and nap, okay. Wake me up though if you need direct-"
"I've got GPS, Dad. We're cool."
Content with that answer, curling up in the backseat he balled up his jacket to use as a pillow. Then tossed back two of the pain pills from his small stash of them.
He didn't have a full supply. Certainly not enough for him to get hooked on, but the pills made his leg pain bearable and better yet, they allowed him a dreamless sleep. Ever since he parted ways with Carrie that had been hard to come by.
Checking the rear view mirror to see Brody was out like a light, Dana pulled over and parked then got out of the car. Partly to check her tire to make sure it was still intact. Mostly to finally get around to doing something that had been needling at her the past few days. Ever since her and Brody's discussion about Carrie.
Pulling out her phone she dialed the number she'd looked up at the house, and learned matched the first speed dial on Brody's prepaid.
After a few rings she heard a voice she still wished wasn't familiar to her.
"Hi you've reached Carrie Mathison. Leave a message and I'll call-"
"Hey...why did we stop..", Brody mumbled, sitting up to look out the partially open window as Dana jumped, almost dropping the phone in the street.
"I'm just checking the tire, Dad. Go back to sleep."
"Yeah? I don't know I'm not, sleepy. I'm actually feeling pretty light. Floaty.", he mused, turning to give her a dopey grin.
"That's the drugs, Dad."
"Oh. Is it? Drugs are bad though."
"Yeah I know they're bad. Really bad."
"I taught you that, right?"
"Yeah. You did."
"Okay good. I'm glad we had that talk."
"Good night, Dad."
"Good night.", Brody said cheerfully, adjusting his coat-pillow before conking out again.
Rolling her eyes, Dana got back in the car and drove until reaching a rest stop. Once there, after parking and seeing Brody was really asleep this time, she locked the car up. Needing a cheeseburger and a Red Bull for the road.
Once inside she grabbed her phone, redialed the last number dialed. This time though instead of going to voicemail, on the fifth ring someone picked up.
"Hello! Peter Q and his voice commanding at your service! Who am I speaking to tonight?"
A man's voice half laughed, half slurred as Dana frowned. Then heard an exaggerated sigh/whine.
"Hey! HEY! That one's my...that's my phone!"
"Sorry, I stand corrected. This is Carrie Mathison's goddamn answering service speaking. How the fuck can I help you?"
"Oh! You are such a..."
Trailing off, then cracking up when Quinn scrunched up his face, started ranting in a British accent, Carrie was nearly doubled over from laughing. That wasn't enough though to deter her from her mission to reclaim her phone.
"C'mon, Quinn. Hand it over..."
"No!"
"You son of a...give me my fucking phone! He...hello?"
"Hello?", Quinn mocked in a squeaky girlish voice.
"Ugh! Shut up!", Carrie scowled. Swatting at him only to have him get hold of her phone again, start yelling into it.
"Whoever the fuck is there why don't you speak up? Please?"
"Damnit Quinn, just give me my...agh!"
Tackling him, trying to wrestle the phone out of his grip, Quinn tried to roll above her but she kept him pinned. When he still didn't relinquish the phone Carrie pinched his arm, twisted the skin as he let out a screech.
"Goddammit Carrie! Agh! That fucking hurt!", he whined as her laughter turned to squeaks. When she went to roll off to the side, her phone resting on his hip dug into her leg.
"Hey..is that an iPhone in your pocket or you just happy to see me."
"Jesus Christ.", Quinn groaned, rolling her off him. Exasperated but still laughing as she smacked her lips together, made kissing sounds.
Still listening in Dana rolled her eyes, hung up in disgust.
"I should've fucking guessed.", she muttered to herself before turning on her heel and leaving the rest stop. Her rage more than enough to fuel her the rest of the drive to the mosque.
...
The next morning Carrie awoke to find herself in her bed, in a shirt that certainly wasn't her's or Brody's, and with a wicked headache pulsing through her brain.
Slowly she got out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, taking her pills that she chased with some aspirin.
She did her damnedest not to hurl.
The last thing she remembered was Quinn doing an impression of Brody's fake accent, that actually sounded pretty convincing. But she had no idea how she'd gotten into Quinn's shirt and out of her pants.
Well, she had an idea but her mind refused to go there.
"Quinn? Quinn! Are you still here?"
"Morning sunshine.", he chirped, strolling in her room as she shot him a death glare.
"Well aren't we ravishing."
"Not with that ass tattoo you're not.", she snarled.
"Well, at least you remember some of last night."
Smiling he handed her a cup of coffee that she took before slowly sitting down at the foot of the bed.
"Anything else coming back to you?", he asked.
"You spoke British..."
"And sang Bohemian Rhapsody. You joined in on the high notes."
"Fuck."
"You weren't half bad. But your neighbor called the cops on us."
"Quinn!"
"I showed him my badge, did my best not to look trashed. You however I locked in the bathroom."
"It locks from the inside."
"Chair under the doorknob."
Rolling her eyes she groaned.
"Jesus, what else. Oh fuck. Did you and I...did we?", she asked nervously, hoping he knew what she was implying.
"No. You did make a play for me though. Then tried to take your bra off and pull it out through your shirt sleeve."
"Shit. Did I?"
"No. Just almost strangled yourself with it."
"So how did I wind up in your shir-"
"The flask got spilled all over yours. Didn't think you'd want your mattress to smell like a distillery."
"So wait..you carried me upstairs?"
"Yeah and you fucking fought me the whole way."
"What?"
"You kicked me in the knee twice and punched me in the ribs. My suggestion that you go to bed made you very cranky."
"Jesus Christ.", Carrie groaned, mortified.
"So how the fuck did you commit all this to memory? You were as drunk as I was!"
"Trust me, it was worth remembering."
"Quinn.."
"I rehydrated, took some aspirin last night before I crashed on your couch. And went for a jog this morning to clear my head."
"What time is it?"
"Eleven."
"Eleven! Fucking, shi..I have to get Farrah at my sister's. Check on Saul. Oh God, Quinn how's Saul!"
"I called the hospital. There's no change."
Nodding her throbbing head, Carrie groaned, collapsed back against the bed pillows.
"You know you're very dramatic when you're hung over."
"And you're annoyingly not. Hung over."
"How can you tell?"
"You went for a fucking jog this morning!"
"I came back though."
"Yeah. You did.", she smiled softly, sipping some of her coffee before speaking again.
"Thanks. For sticking around. I..."
"It's alright, you didn't look up to being by yourself.", Quinn said as she nodded sheepishly.
"Yeah. And at least one of us had the good sense to keep anything from, happening."
"I didn't stay last night because I wanted something to.", he clarified, about to say more when Carrie's phone rang.
Slowly she stood up, swearing as she looked around for the source of the vibrating.
"It's on your dresser. I thought you'd want it close by if Farrah..."
Nodding, Carrie checked the caller and tensed up, answered.
"Maggie hi, what is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to check in. You said you'd be by bright and early to get Farrah and.."
"Shit, is she alright? Is she asking for me?"
"Farrah's fine. Really. She and the girls are eating breakfast with Danny before he drops them at school."
"This late?"
"The weather was miserable and they cancelled the buses. They get a half day today."
"Oh fine, then. Well I'm heading over there now to get Farrah. I can say hi to them before they all head out."
"Hold on, Carrie."
"What?
"You sound like you've had a long night.", Maggie said knowingly, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"Well my mentor was shot and my daughter saw it, so yeah, Maggie. I had a long night! What does it matter?"
"Carrie, you're hungover. Even over the phone I can tell. And it's freezing rain and slippery out right now. I don't think you should be behind the wheel just yet."
"Jesus Christ, Maggie. I'm fine to drive."
"Carrie..."
"Look I just want to see Farrah and give her a hug and bring her home, okay! You don't understand! I.."
Seeing her about to launch into the whole ugly story about last night, explaining why she was so desperate to see the girl, and knowing she had every right to feel that way, Quinn got up and took the phone from Carrie before she could stop him. Held a hand up to keep her from protesting.
"Maggie, hi. It's Peter Quinn. Look I'm at Carrie's now. Yeah. I'll drive her to your house to get Farrah. Is that alright? Okay. Okay, thanks."
Hanging up he handed Carrie back the phone. Looking slightly smug as she glared, agitated.
"What?"
"Is this going to become a habit of yours? Just jumping in to solve every little crisis that I come across?"
"No. But I can make it a habit if you're interested."
"Ugh, damn it, Quinn!", she yelled, but her head throbbed at all the commotion and she swore. Sat back down on the bed hoping the wave of nausea would pass.
"Shit. You really don't do well hungover."
"This isn't just hangover. Fuck, I can't remember the last time I even ate something.", she groaned.
"Well we should change that. But take a shower first. Hot, cold, whatever you need to do. Meet me downstairs in twenty or I'm going without you."
"Wait, where?", she called as he made his way into the hall, ignoring her.
"Going where! Quinn! Damn it!"
Rolling her eyes she shakily stood up, still swearing before downing her coffee, then following his instructions. Getting in the shower she turned the water on cold as long as she could stand it, then switched it to hot. Very hot.